


Once Upon a Time...

by SpockPandaSaurus (xxpanda92xx)



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Happy Ending, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Light Angst, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, POV Multiple, Temporary Character Death, i promise he's fine, no beta we die like stregebor should have
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:54:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28589862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxpanda92xx/pseuds/SpockPandaSaurus
Summary: Once upon a time, there was a bard who died. He got better though.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 16
Kudos: 288





	Once Upon a Time...

"Geralt," Ciri said, looking down with tears in her eyes. She knelt next to the body, hand hovering in the air just above him. "Geralt, he's... he's dead." Dara took her hand and held it tightly, trying to comfort her.

Geralt sighed and knelt down to pick up Jaskier. "Yeah, he does that."

_Once upon a time, there was a Witcher.  
_

_The Witcher had a bard who he loved very dearly,_

_And so he sent him away, to protect both the bard and himself._

_He was a bit of an idiot._

The first time it happened, neither of them had been prepared. It was their first time traveling together after that godsdamned mountain. They'd talked, hashed out a lot of things, and were trying to regain their equilibrium around each other. Could Geralt be snappish, or would it chase Jaskier off? Could Jaskier sing while they walked, or would Geralt chase him off? Where was the line between teasing banter and hurtful words, now that both their hearts were raw and brittle?

It was their first time traveling together again, and it was almost their last. Should have been their last, if the bandits that had ambushed them had had anything to say about it. They almost did, too. An arrow came singing through the trees, and Geralt had barely had time to process the sound and try to react, just a moment too slow to catch it or at least put his hand in the way of it, when it lodged itself in Jaskier's heart. "That _fucking liar_ ," he'd croaked, and then collapsed. There was poison in the arrow, as if the weapon itself wasn't enough. It was fast acting and when plunged directly into the heart... he was dead before he hit the ground.

_Once upon a time, there was a Bard._

_The bard had a Witcher who he loved very dearly,_

_And so he let himself be sent away, when his Witcher's heart was breaking._

_He was a bit of a fool._

A fool he was, but an idiot he was not. Jaskier knew Geralt, knew that if he waited and pleaded and made a general nuisance of himself, he'd annoy Geralt into not being so grumpy anymore, and he could work to help ease his friend's pains and burdens that way. He wasn't an idiot; he knew this wasn't really about him.

But the thing was, he wasn't an idiot. He knew he deserved better than to cheer Geralt up and let him get away with his words, especially at his own expense. He wasn't an idiot, but he was a fool, and he was very angry. Angry at Geralt for thinking that he could throw away twenty years of friendship just because his girlfriend broke up with him ( _again,_ he'd like to add) and he had to take responsibility for his actions. Angry at himself for letting Geralt treat him badly for so long that this registered as an okay thing to say to him in any context. 

He was a fool, and he was very angry, and he was very, very much in love, and so he went and he found a djinn and he made three wishes. 

Now, as previously stated, he was many things, but one of them wasn't an idiot, so he didn't immediately rush into the whole wish-making process until he had a good plan. The first step was obviously to make sure he was well rested, because he'd learned the very hard way that exhaustion was _not_ a good basis for making wishes on. The next was to find a djinn. Thankfully, Destiny was smiling on him (She'd always had a soft spot for fools in love, and the horrendous decisions they make because of it), and so he happened upon gossip and rumor and legend and myth until, incredibly, a jar with an incredibly powerful and furious creature bound within it sat in his hands. 

Time to open it. 

He did, and it was just as anticlimactic as before. If he hadn't known better from the last time, he would have thought it to be just another dead end and gone about searching for another. But he'd been around enough magic now - Geralt's signs and Yennefer's, well, everything - to recognize the feel of it as it brushed against his skin. "I know you're there," he'd called out to the empty forest around him, "and I'm not making any requests or demands until we have a proper conversation about it all, so show yourself if you want to be unbound."

_Once upon a time, there was a djinn._

_The djinn had a new master who they already hated very dearly._

_And so they tried to wait it out, thinking it'd lose interest, believe it'd been misled, and move on._

_They felt very foolish, after a while._

The curious thing about this one, they decided, was that there was no magic flowing from it. It had been touched by magic before, magic from their own kind even, which was a surprise. But it possessed none of its own. It was human, pure and simple. 

And yet. 

It somehow had the power to be the most enchanting yet annoying creature the djinn had ever encountered in their long, long life. 

It sang constantly. 

The singing, admittedly, was quite pleasant. There were slow songs and fast songs and songs that were only a few words or phrases repeated over and over, and songs that told an entire story with no repetition of previous lines. There were songs full of mischief and songs full of grief and songs full of things the djinn had never experienced, _human_ things, that they still felt they could understand from the emotion behind its songs.

It talked endlessly. 

That was less enjoyable. The first story it told was fine, interesting even. They had been trapped in that jar a long, long time, and the world had changed considerably since they were forced in. The second story was also fine. Less interesting, all about a horse named like a fish that liked sugar. The djinn summoned a storm after the eighth story about the character who owned the horse. They couldn't harm it, couldn't make it stop talking or singing, but they could terrify it into silence. Or so they thought. All that happened was that it muttered, "Very mature, are all magical beings born with the manners of a gnat?" and put its instrument into some kind of protective case. It still continued to talk. 

It didn't seem bothered to be sleeping outside, in a lonely forest far from its kind. It knew how to set traps, had a surprisingly well-packed bag full of food and drink and supplies, and knew how to get more. Slowly, the djinn realized that it could survive for some time on its own, and that it wasn't going to be chased off. It knew they could not harm it, and it seemed to be without fear.

It was a week before the djinn realized that the only way out of this, the only way to freedom, was to interact with their master and yield to its terms until it started making wishes. 

They sighed and pulled their magic together to make a semblance of a form for it to talk to. Before revealing themself, they took one moment to borrow a word they'd learned from it. A human word, but it seemed most apt for describing the situation they'd found themselves in. "Fuck."

_Once upon a time, there was another Witcher, a few others, in fact.  
_

_They were a family, of a sort, and they loved one another very much.  
_

_And that is why, when the White Wolf returned home with a dead bard in his arms, they all mourned him, though they'd never met him.  
_

_They were a little out of the loop.  
_

Lambert met Geralt by the door to the Keep. He hadn't been keeping watch for his big brother, mind you. That'd be stupid and sentimental. He just... liked watching the snowfall. And had happened to see Geralt coming up the hill with two young people following him, a girl and a boy with a cap on his head, and something big in his arms. He was just hoping it'd been a deer or something he'd killed on the way up, so they'd have some fresh meat for dinner. 

He wasn't watching for his brother. 

His heart didn't leap to his throat at the definitely-not-deer-shaped bundle in his arms. 

He didn't almost fall down the stairs because he was running as fast as he could to reach him quickly. 

Lies. All of them. 

"Thanks, Lam," Geralt grunted, and Lambert didn't even protest the nickname that he always complained made him sound soft and gentle. 

The bundle in his arms was definitely not deer-shaped. 

It was bard-shaped.

"Geralt...," Lambert said, not sure how to ask what needed to be said. He looked to the two children. They looked small and cold and sad, and his nonexistent heart clenched. 

He sighed. "Take Roach to the stable, will you? Have to get him upstairs. Fucker couldn't wait till we'd made it up the hill, could he?"

"What... what happened?" Melitele's tits, why couldn't it have been Eskel who saw Geralt first? Or Vesemir? Either would have been better to comfort the... oddly unbothered man. Maybe he was still in the denial stage?

Geralt's face darkened. "He's been eating light because coin is tight, which I still don't know how he slipped past me - we'll be having _words_ about that, believe me - and then he took a wrong turn because he lost me in the storm - couldn't just wait and yell for me and know I'd go back for him, that'd be too easy - and then he took a rather hasty exploration down a few hills and through the ice sheet over a lake. I did my best, but-"

Lambert nodded. Humans were small, fragile, easily broken. Kaer Morhen wasn't built somewhere meant to be easily accessible. The storm that had sprung up surprisingly quickly had also been surprisingly fierce. Sometimes, life just sucked and there was nothing to be done about it. At least the children, who introduced themselves as Ciri and Dara, were still alive, but he knew that when reality hit, it would not make it any easier for Geralt to handle the loss of someone he loved. Destiny had not smiled on his brother this day.

(She had, but everyone knows She has a mischievous sense of humor).

Lambert stabled Roach while the children followed Geralt into the Keep. He carried Jaskier to the room that they'd carefully prepared for him, excited to meet the one their bother had cared for so deeply and for so long. 

_Once upon a time, there was a Witcher.  
_

_He had a bard, who he loved very much.  
_

_And so, when he saw his bard die, he didn't have the strength to bury him right away, because it felt like a final goodbye._

_He was a bit of an idiot and needn't have grieved, but in this case, it wasn't his fault.  
_

There was a pile of bandits around him. None of them were breathing. He didn't remember how it happened, but he was pretty sure it had to do with the bloody sword in his hand. His body remembered the fight: heavy breathing, sweat, a couple of small injuries that would heal before the sun had set. But his mind had processed none of it. It was all on his friend. His friend who was definitely, completely, absolutely dead. 

There was no heartbeat. 

There was no breath in those lungs that normally worked so tirelessly. 

There was no light in those beautiful eyes. 

There was no Jaskier, not anymore. 

It seemed wrong. After all they'd been through, after everything they'd seen together. Nekker nests and golden dragons and lavish courts that ended in dramatic twists and shitty inns that ended with them curled into one another for warmth. It seemed so wrong that it ended here, in a stretch of field between two towns barely marked on a map. The flowers that dotted the grasses weren't even buttercups. They were dandelions. Yellow, but the wrong kind. 

His body continued to move without input from his mind. He knelt. Picked Jaskier up. Whistled for Roach to follow. Walked further into the field, away from the road, away from the threats that he should have heard coming, away from the murderers who'd done this horrible thing hoping for just a bit of coin. He laid him down, pulled the arrow out of Jaskier's heart, and laid the warm, heavy cloak that he'd bought in hopes of inviting him to Kaer Morhen this year, over the body. It hid the blood stains and the wound. But then it felt wrong to see what little color remained covered by something heavy and black, so he removed it and moved one of Jaskier's arms. He repositioned his hand so that it covered the wound, and yes, that looked right, Jaskier would want a dramatic pose even in death. He knew he should move, knew he should get back on the Path, knew he should take Jaskier's body to Oxenfurt so it could be buried amongst his friends and colleagues, or to Lettenhove so his family could say their goodbyes, but he just.

Couldn't. 

Roach came and laid herself behind him. He leaned back against her, saddle digging uncomfortably into his back. He left his hand on Jaskier's, over his heart and just. Sat. There were no tears. The Trials had made sure there never could be. But even crying felt like too small an action for his grief. He was just numb. He registered everything around him, but had the energy to react to none of it. He just sat and processed it all. 

His cuts healing. 

The sun setting and rising again. 

Roach nudging at him. 

Jaskier's heart beating again. 

Wait _._

With a huge gasp, like he'd just surfaced after swimming underwater for too long, Jaskier sat up. He was panting, great heaving breaths as if his lungs were embarrassed to have been caught slacking off and were eager to show that no, they really did earn their keep, honest. 

His eyes, bright again, were darting around the field. He didn't even seem to notice Geralt still had his hand over his (beating, pounding, wonderfully _alive_ ) heart. After a few minutes to regain his bearings and let Geralt sit in stunned wonder, he laughed. "Not a liar after all then."

"What _the fuck_ , Jaskier?!"

_Once upon a time, there was a djinn._

_The djinn had a new master who they wanted to hate very badly, but couldn't._

_And so they listened to its tale of woe, of love and heartbreak, of death and Destiny._

_They were very young, as djinns go, and plenty mischievous, and so they decided to help out the fool in love.  
_

"Thank you," their master said politely when they sat themselves across from it. "I appreciate the audience."

"After its performance, this is no surprise," they grumbled.

It laughed brightly, smiled wide. "I meant it in the other sense, but yes, that's fair."

"Why does it demand an audience? Why does it not make its wishes and leave?"

"My name is Julian," it said, holding out its hand.

They shook it carefully. This was a new experience, something novel for one so old. "It not could pronounce our name in its clumsy tongue."

"My tongue is not clumsy, thank you very much," it rebuked hotly. 

They said their name. Not their True Name of course, but it had not provided its True Name either; it had used the name others had given it, not the name it had given itself. It listened, asked them to repeat the name, and then said their name almost perfectly. Slightly off, but it was not its fault that its limited anatomy could not physically form the proper shapes. It did far better than any other who had attempted their language. They were impressed. "It has not answered our questions," they pointed out.

"Do you eat?" it asked instead. "I don't have much left, you're the second most stubborn person I've ever met, but I'll share what I can anyways. You've been using a lot more of your energy than I have this week, so I thought I'd offer."

They accepted the meager portion of hardened bread it held out. They didn't eat, per se, not in this realm, but the food was _consumed_. They couldn't say why they were playing along with this one. There was no magic in its veins, no chaos running through it. Nothing should compel them to break bread and trade names with this creature. But there was something about it that was frustratingly beguiling. They couldn't tell it no, and not because of anything related to the magic that bound them to it. 

Once the meal was completed, it smiled and said, "I bet you're wondering why I haven't made any wishes yet."

The inability to deny its natural charisma did not make it less annoying. 

It seemed to know this, because it winked playfully before continuing, "I'm going to tell you a story."

They groaned. "It has already told us many stories."

"Yes, as a warm up," it said cheerfully, "but this is what it was all leading to."

And so they listened to one last, long story. About a man who Destiny paid much attention to, despite desiring none of it. A man who did what he had to to save the friend he'd accidentally endangered with his recklessness, and then the woman who'd become entangled in that mess, though after her treatment, he'd owed her nothing. A man who ran from his Destiny in a misguided but sincere effort to protect her from what he thought the real monster to be - himself. A man who this singer had followed around and loved for twenty years, only to be sent away like an unwanted pet who's bit his hand one too many times.

"So it seeks vengeance? The death of this Witcher creature? We could replicate what it almost died from, the attack of the throat," they offered. "It would be a fitting end for it, since its words were what tore the bonds of friendship asunder."

There was a great screech from the human, whose body looked too small to have contained such outrage. "Have you heard nothing I've said, you stupid person?" They were too surprised and amused at being insulted to remember to actually be insulted. "I want to help him! I want to fix this!"

"But this is not its mess to fix. Its friend made the mess, its friend should fix it."

"Yes, but no. I suppose it is vengeance, in a way, but not murderous. I am going to do the meanest thing I can think of, and be kind."

They tilted their head. "We do not understand."

It laid its plan out carefully, describing the desired wishes and the reasoning for each one without actually wishing for anything. 

"There are a great many holes in its plan and its wording, if it is trying to avoid any kind of retribution," they pointed out.

"I know. I know the power of words. I was hoping, by talking to you, that you'd maybe not try the whole retribution thing? If you understood that I was trying to help someone else, instead of gaining anything for myself? And that you knew I had every intention of smashing your jar and doing anything else to help you go free, if just making the wishes aren't enough?" For the first time, it seemed to deflate and acknowledge the hopelessness of its cause. It was like a fae releasing its glamour, and all they saw was a human, not as young as it once was but still as hopelessly in love as it ever had been, just trying to help that which it cared about. 

The djinn was young, and mischievous, and had a fondness for fools in love, if only because they usually made such terrible wishes that they were always the source of the best stories. 

(Destiny knew this when She sent the bard their way).

"If it breaks the jar and destroys the jar's stopper with the seal, we will honor the wishes as they are meant and not inflict retribution, or what its kind calls 'The Curse of the Djinn'. We give our word if it will give its."

"Done," it said immediately, and stuck out its hand. And then, once the deal had been struck, it smashed the jar against the rocks, and held the seal that was binding them in place over the small campfire it had kept burning. "Will this do? Will the fire be enough to destroy it?" They nodded. "I'll drop it as soon as the wishes are granted." 

It made its wishes. 

They carved its arm for each one that they fulfilled.

When all three marks were there, it dropped the seal into the fire, as promised. 

They were free. 

And they sought no retribution, for a deal struck is a deal honored. That didn't mean they didn't have a little of their own fun though. 

_Once upon a time, there was another Witcher, a few others, in fact.  
_

_They were a family, of a sort, and they loved one another very much.  
_

_And that is why, when they felt the powerful burst of magic from their White Wolf's room, they ran to his aid, swords drawn and bombs at the ready.  
_

_They meant well, they really did.  
_

"Geralt," Vesemir said sternly, "you know that necromancy is strictly prohibited."

Geralt was sitting at his friend's bedside, holding his hand. His dead friend, who looked very much alive. So much alive that he was sitting up and smiling at them all. His lips were no longer blue with both winter and death's chill, his bones no longer at improper angles. The young ones stood next to him, looking stunned. "It wasn't me!" Geralt protested, like a whiny teenager. 

"It was me," Jaskier said. "Sorry for scaring you all. Especially you," he added quietly to Geralt, squeezing the hand that was still clasped in his. "And you two as well," he told Ciri and Dara.

"I don't... understand," Eskel said slowly. He was the first to lower his sword and the hand that had been raised to form a Sign if needed.

"Jaskier's an idiot," Geralt grumbled affectionately.

"A fool," the bard countered. "A fool in love."

Lambert rolled his eyes, but noted the very light dusting of pink on his brother's cheeks. "Somebody explain how the corpse you brought home is no longer a corpse if you didn't use necromancy."

_Once upon a time, there was a Bard._

_The bard had a Witcher who he loved very dearly,_

_And so he found a way to fix the problems that his love had created for himself._

_He was exactly that petty._

They moved to a different spot in the field and made camp. Away from the dead bandits. Away from the ashes of the bloodied, poisonous arrow that Geralt had burned with Igni. Jaskier's bloodied doublet had been burned with it, and he now sat in the cloak Geralt had bought him, without a shirt. It kept him warm, but still allowed Geralt to see the skin above his heart. The completely unblemished, unmarred, unbroken skin over the beating heart. If he hadn't seen it, hadn't felt it, couldn't still see it and hear it and feel it, he'd have thought he'd lost his mind and sank into a dream. 

"Tell me again," Geralt said. Partly this was to make sense of the story. Partly this was just to hear Jaskier's voice again, after he thought he would never.

"I found a djinn. I badgered it into a civil conversation. I wished away all of your problems."

"Because you were mad at me."

"Because if you had nothing to blame me for, you'd have to admit that you, yourself were the issue here, and that I had, as I only ever had, tried to help."

"I know."

"That's all I ever did! The songs, the bathing and hair washing and massages and constant friendship-"

"I know."

"Following you into danger, bandaging your wounds when you got out of it less than unscathed-"

"I'm sorry, Jask."

He smiled. "Thank you. That's all I wanted to hear."

Geralt had said it already. He'd happily say it any number of times, until Jaskier was tired of it. "So, you talked to the djinn. Why?"

"So he'd understand it wasn't for personal gain and my wishes wouldn't bite me in the ass."

"That's... surprisingly well thought out. Did it work?"

"Your bond with Yennefer?"

Geralt checked for that constant tug he always felt towards her. "Gone," he said, surprised.

Jaskier nodded. "Don't know about the second wish yet. Just because it hasn't happened, doesn't mean it won't. It's that your Child Surprise will find her way to you and vice versa, with both of you alive and in good health. I wouldn't put it past Destiny to forcefully reunite you by, I dunno, making you fall violently ill so that you're trapped in the same hospital with her or something."

( _Rude_ , Destiny thinks, but She's still smiling. She understands why these two might think so. No one ever said She was kind to Her favorites.)

"Appreciated," Geralt said. "And the third?"

Jaskier reached for his hand and placed it over his heart. "That I wouldn't be taken from you until you actually wished for me to go. I know your words were out of fear as much as anger, Geralt. I know you fear losing me to old age or a monster or sickness or any number of things, and it was easier to cut me out of your heart and your life than let me leave it some other way. Our fates aren't bound, not like you and Yenn. When you truly wish me gone, I will be. And if we wish to part ways, we can. We won't be dragged back together over and over again, crashing into each other constantly. But you only have to say 'see you later', not 'goodbye', until you're really, truly, ready to say it."

Geralt felt the heart beating beneath his hand and focused on it, using it to ground himself and remind himself of the truth. "Jaskier-"

"I didn't think it worked at first. It hurt so much and I just knew that was it, that was the end."

"The djinn is who you were calling a liar?" Geralt asked.

"I thought it'd made a loophole anyways, despite our deal."

( _Rude,_ the djinn grumbled from where they hovered, watching things unfold. They were a free agent now, but found they were rather fond of the stupid bardling, and had wanted to check up on it when they felt the pull of the wish bringing it back to life. But they could understand why. Their kind had certainly built a reputation, and besides, they _had_ found a loophole. The wish had said "don't let _us_ be parted until _we_ are ready". Either an oversight or an intentional gamble to appeal to the djinn's tricky nature, but either way, they couldn't wait to see its reaction the first time the white-haired one fell in battle.)

"And so, here we are," Geralt said in wonder. "You charmed a djinn into listening to you, made my life easier just to prove a point, and gave me the gift of not having to lose you any time soon. And all I did was buy you a cloak and invite you home." He smiled softly. "Seems a little unfair, don't you think?"

"You could throw in a kiss for good measure," Jaskier joked, but Geralt felt how his heartbeat sped up under his palm. It was played as a joke, but it wasn't really meant as one.

"Gladly."

(Both Destiny and the djinn stopped watching after that, because certain human activities aren't that interesting, especially when you know they're going to be happening many, many times in the upcoming years. Had they existed on the same plane and been aware of each other, however, and if the human gesture had had any meaning to them, they would have shared a high five as they left to attend to more interesting matters.)

_Once upon a time, there was a Witcher.  
_

_The Witcher had a bard who he loved very dearly, and who he had to part with occasionally. It was never for very long, only twenty-four hours, because while djinns are mischievous creatures, they always keep their word, when it is properly given.  
_

_And so, after claiming his Destiny, despite putting it off for so long that She was truly beginning to despair of Her choice in protectors, and helping the little lion cub of Cintra recover the friend she thought she'd lost, because he knew the feeling, he took them home to meet the rest of his family._

_He was a bit of an idiot, but he got there in the end._


End file.
